A/N: Here I am again, with another "oldie". This one came to life back in August, after the summer finale. Did anyone else notice Toby was wearing the same clothes during his stake out as he was the evening before at Spencer's house? Biggest hint EVER that he totally slept over, so I ran with it. Get your mind out of the gutter, guys. I considered it, but I as I studied the cuddling on the couch I got the feeling they weren't exactly in the right frame of mind for… that. :) Hopefully you guys will enjoy it anyway.

Hand In Hand

Toby Cavanaugh stared into the fire, enjoying the way it gently cackled in the fireplace at the Hastings' manor. He felt warmth course through his entire body, partly because of the fire, partly because of the blanket draped across his lap, but mostly because of the beautiful brunette tucked underneath his arm.

She had fallen silent quite a while ago. Spencer, who always had so much to say, ask, wonder – had fallen against him in a heap of exhaustion, and very little conversation had passed between them since they'd settled on the couch. He didn't mind. It wasn't silence of an awkward nature. It was the kind of silence that followed raw, uninhibited honesty. The kind where your brain and your heart and your soul played catch-up to all the words that had been flung across the room in moments of intensity and animation.

They'd already ploughed through the difficult part. They'd reached the other side, miraculously still hand in hand, and now there was nothing left for him to do but hold her while they both processed.

And hold her, he would. Toby knew his girlfriend like the back of his hand. He knew she was a worrier, someone who was always looking over her shoulder, always vigilant, always on guard. Peace of mind was a concept almost as foreign to her as detention.

Yet, when he wrapped her up in his arms, she would quiet down. Sometimes it was almost immediate, other times it took a while. Toby was a patient man. He never let her go until he felt her muscles relax against him, until her body grew heavy with serenity. Until he felt assured her batteries had been recharged, her spirit repaired.

He wasn't sure if anyone else in her life offered this to her the way he did. Or if anyone even realized how much she craved it. She was an expert at putting on a brave face, at voicing witty comebacks, at rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue in annoyance. But at the end of the day, she was just a girl. She was his little firecracker, but even fire eventually simmers down.

Toby looked down at her dark head resting against her shoulder, admiring the way long locks of hair spilled across his bicep. He craned his neck to steal a glance at her face, only to feel a soft tenderness settle over him when he saw she had fallen asleep.

Slowly, careful not to disturb her, he pulled on the blanket covering them and threw it to the side. His left arm tightened around her while his right found the soft skin behind her knees. He lifted himself off the couch, holding her like a baby in his arms, loving the way she sighed and leaned into him in her sleep.

He carried her up the stairs, following the familiar path to her bedroom. The room was dark, and carefully felt his way over to the bed before gently placing her on it. His fingers reached out to turn on her bedside lamp, and when he turned back to her he saw she had awoken, and was sleepily sitting up.

He reached for her legs, pulling one brown sock off, then the other, while her fingers settled on his shoulders. His own fingers went to work on her dress next, cursing the miniscule buttons that always seemed to be sewn onto women's clothing, or her clothing in particular. Her hands quickly replaced his, for even half-asleep she was quicker with tiny buttons than he was. He searched between her pillows for the shirt of his that she usually slept in, locating it just in time to see her sleepily try to get out of her dress. He helped her, his hands starting at her thighs and pushing the dress up and over her head.

She's beautiful, he thought, as she reached back to unhook her bra. He almost hated the thought of covering her up with his old, ratty T-shirt, but when she shivered he didn't hesitate to place it over her head.

When he gently pushed her back against the pillows, she suddenly reached out and blindly grappled for him.

"Stay," she whispered hoarsely, "Stay here tonight."

"Are your parents still…?"

She nodded urgently, impatient hands already finding their way under his shirt and chasing it over his head. Her mother was in San Francisco, her father in New York City. They'd both been gone for days, Toby didn't even know when they had last seen their daughter – or each other.

"Stay," she repeated, and he tried not to flinch at the desperation in her tone. It came dangerously close to begging, and Spencer never begged. In all the messages she'd left on his voicemail today, she'd never once begged. She'd remained calm, poised, polite even, asking him to please call her.

But now she sounded like someone who'd been fighting to keep it together all day. And Toby knew, he knew, that even if her parents were in the next room, he wouldn't be able to walk away from her. Not when those big, brown eyes were looking at him like the thought of him leaving was the most terrifying thing in the world to her right now.

"Okay," he said gently, "Lay back."

She crawled under the covers and watched him while he undressed. He draped his jeans across the rocker he'd made her, retrieving his shirt and her dress from the floor and laying both items atop it.

"When I thought you were…"

She didn't finish her sentence, and it didn't take him long to silently take a few guesses on how it was supposed to end. The devil? The enemy? Dead?

She cleared her throat and continued, "I would sit in that chair and pretend it was you who was rocking me."

He spun around to look at her. She was resting on her side in the bed, facing him, looking exhausted and emotionally drained but not particularly distressed. It was almost as if she was oblivious to the fact that she'd just ripped his heart out of his chest.

She must have caught something in his face, though, because she frowned and started to sit up.

"I'm sorry…"

"No." He shook his head and knelt down in front of her, trembling fingers reaching out to push a few loose curls away from her face. "No, Spencer. I'm sorry."

She regarded him, her eyes flicking back and forth between his. Finally, she placed her hand on the back of his neck.

"Just come to bed."

His knees nearly gave out with relief, and it took a moment before he realized why.

For the first time, she wasn't glossing over his apology. She wasn't assuring him that his motives had always been pure and that in the end, there was nothing to forgive.

While he was endlessly grateful that it was somehow still possible for her to feel that way, it didn't do anything to lessen the guilt worming its way through him. He would have felt better if she'd thrown things at him, screamed, cried – anything to unburden her from the weeks of agony he'd put her through.

It was tonight that she finally gave him what he wanted. Pure, unmingled acceptance. She didn't try to sweep it under the rug, didn't try to placate him. She heard what he said, and accepted it. And he felt like he could finally breathe again.

He turned off the light and crawled in next to her, pulling the covers over them and wrapping both arms around her as her back settled against his chest. She sighed and he felt her body relax, much like it had when they'd crept on the couch together earlier that evening. He sighed deeply, taking in the scent of her sweet, coconut shampoo.

"I love you, Spencer," he said quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "You're the light of my life."

Her head turned to look at him, and her hand reached out to stroke his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "And you're the apple of my eye."

They looked at each other for a moment before he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over hers. They lingered, and he felt his stomach flutter as she gently teased him with the tip of her tongue. He wanted more, he always wanted more, but he also knew that now wasn't the time. There would be plenty of time for that later, when she wasn't already half asleep. When their heads were screwed on straight again, when the mere thought of the pain he'd heard in her voice earlier didn't make him feel like crying.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, tightening his arms around her.

Mere seconds later, her body went limp with sleep.

Spencer Hastings was rudely yanked out of the best slumber she'd had in a while by a blaring cell phone. She groaned sleepily, and instinctively turned her body even further into the warmer one beside her.

"Don't get it," she spoke against his skin, her eyes still closed and her voice raspier than usual, as it always was just after she woke up.

She felt more than heard him chuckle, and he pressed a long kiss to her forehead before gently untangling himself just barely enough to reach for his phone.

He returned to her once he'd answered, and she settled back into him and tried to pretend she believed it wouldn't be something pressing, and they could go back to sleep in the cocoon they'd almost artistically formed in the center of her big bed.

This illusion was quickly shattered when she heard her boyfriend utter, "I'm on my way" before hanging up.

She automatically tightened the leg she'd wrapped over his at his words, her body rebelling at the idea of him leaving before her mind could even catch up.

"That was Caleb," he explained softly, his hand finding its way under her shirt and running up her bare back. "He's been camped out at Mona's house all night. He sounded like a zombie so and I said I'd take over."

She didn't say anything for a moment, as if ignoring what he said would make the whole thing go away. Finally, as the last of the cobwebs disappeared from her brain and her rationale kicked in, she spoke.

"Do you have to go right now?"

He sighed. "Spence… he's been up all night. He really needs to get some sleep. And… I owe him."

She lifted her head and met his eyes, knowing what he was referring to. Caleb had dropped everything, Hanna included, to run to his aid on the night of the hoedown. She knew Toby wouldn't forget that anytime soon; it was simply not in his nature. He didn't make friends easily, but once he'd struck up a bond with someone he was loyal to a fault.

She nodded, starting to pull her limbs from his, but he gently held her back. His lips captured hers in a long, tender kiss, and she kissed him back desperately, trying to soak up as much of him as she could before he went away. When they parted his nose brushed against hers – once, twice – before he pulled back and got out of bed.

"You want to grab a shower?" she asked, following him, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

"Nah, I'm okay." He smiled at her as he pulled on his jeans.

She nodded. "I'll make coffee."

"Actually…" he grabbed his phone and pushed it in his pocket, "I think I'm gonna stop by the Brew and pick something up for me and Caleb."

She reached out and smoothed down a rebellious lock of his hair that stood awry from sleep. "Okay."

He was fully dressed now, and she followed him down the stairs still wearing only his shirt and her underwear. He scooped up his jacket, still resting on the arm of the couch, and threw it on in one graceful movement.

He turned to her, giving her that shy half-smile that made her insides melt. She fell into his arms without him having to say a word. Instinctively, her chin tilted upwards and his lips descended on hers. The kiss wasn't rushed or heated, more like warm and familiar, and she felt her own fingers gently pulling him closer as she sighed into his mouth.

She hadn't really been conscious of it at the time, but lately all their kisses had had a desperate feel to it. She would sense the unrest inside him, and she would react by pushing her body against his, curling her hand around his neck, seeking out his tongue with her own. Anything that would give him something real to hold on to. Something palpable, something untainted by -A. Something to keep him with her.

But now all those worries melted away like snow in springtime. She knew he was with her. His mind, his body and his heart – she held all of it in her hands. And strangely enough, it didn't give her any sense of empowerment. All she felt was an infinite amount of gratitude.

The kiss came to its natural end far too soon for her liking, but he still didn't pull away. He only pulled her closer, fitting her curves of her body into his own in a perfect match. She clung to him as his arms went all the way around her, smiling softly against his neck. She'd never met a guy who liked to snuggle as much as Toby did.

"I'll call you if something comes up," he murmured into her hair.

She nodded, and he drew back slightly to catch her gaze with his. "Keep your eyes open," he told her quietly, "Keep your ears open. And please, don't do anything without using your head."

She smiled ruefully at his anatomy lesson, but he didn't let her go until she gave a small, affirmative nod. He took a few steps back, and she immediately felt a chill in his absence.

Her phone went off just as he was pushing the door open. In all honesty, she was glad for the distraction. Somewhere along the line, it had become far too painful to watch him leave.

Even if it was only for a little while.